The Lost Islands
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Now everybody needs some time,

Aralusian | Grullo (EE aa Dd) | 15 hh | Five | Fuchs

Nikola clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as the dark stallion kept up his act of "I'm big and bad and dangerous", prancing around on the sand. He worked his mouth, exercising the accent he'd first donned when coming to these islands. He'd been under the impression that things would be the same here as where he'd come from. Strangers weren't particularly cared for, especially if they had a foreign tongue in their mouths. But here he'd slipped from the gentlemanly way back to his bayou-bred racket and was met with adoration from his mares.

His willing mares.

"I was speaking english, just not in the way you are accustom to," forcing the words past his teeth with a struggle. Even dropping his native lingo, his words held a little backwoods country drawl in them. "As I said, I am not here to make trouble or ruffle feathers. If you would calm down and see I am not here to fight but talk man to man. You've taken part of my family and while it is my fault for not catching you in the act, I am here to see if an agreement can or will be made. From what you said, you intend on sending one of them back." He glanced him over, looking for bites or missing chunks of mane. Surprised to see none, he was a little less sure of who would be coming back across his borders.

He steeled himself, sure that this would spur another attack from the opposing stallion. Nikola, however, did not balk nor appear aggressive in any way. Standing as square and as still as possible on the ever shifting sand beneath him, the grullo's ears were lifted half-way, listening without being pin-prick alert.



N I K O L A



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